Home at Last
by darthsydious
Summary: Sherlock returns to London and surprises Molly.


Sherlock came home with his usual fanfare, surprising her at St. Barts at the end of her shift. Molly ran to him, hugging him outright, releasing him with a start when he grunted in pain.

"I'm fine," he said, voice a little hoarse from the sudden pain. "Just some bruising to my ribs, I've had worse," he smiled down at her, it reached his eyes, and she could see he meant it. "It's alright, Molly, I'm quite alright." Gently this time, she put her arms around him, relief in her very bones that Sherlock was alive, he was safe. "What happened to your ring?" he asked, noticing her left hand was bare. She looked at her ring finger, her thumb tracing a line where the ill-fitting engagement ring had sat. "Mycroft told me," he explained. She shrugged.

"It um…didn't work out. Tom, that's the man who I was- anyway he was very nice but…" she pushed her hair out of her face. "Soon as I said yes I just…it didn't feel right, you know? It was wrong, all wrong. It wasn't um…anyway he isn't for me."

"No," Sherlock said, quite decidedly. "No he isn't." Before she could speak, he bent, capturing her mouth with his. "Molly Hooper, don't you know there is no one for you but me?" he asked softly. She smiled with a sigh, shutting her eyes, resting her forehead against him. He pressed a kiss to each eyelid, her forehead and finally her lips again.

"I've missed you," she murmured. She felt him smile against her. "I suppose you knew that already too."

"Mm. Mycroft complained that you send over too many sweets when you worry about me. He's getting fat." He grinned now. "I do hope you'll keep on worrying about me,"

"Don't be mean," she pushed lightly at his shoulder. "He's taken good care of me while you were away," Sherlock stepped back a moment. "You know what I mean," Molly said. "He checks up on me, and he let me know when he'd heard from you,"

"I always sent you a message,"

"Not always," she shrugged. "But that's okay, I know you couldn't text me all the time, that would be foolish to expect you could."

"What time does your shift end?"

"I'm just about to punch out now," she said and stepped back to pull off her lab coat and hang it up. Sherlock waited for her to gather her things, lock the door behind her and put in her time slip. "Have you seen John yet?" she asked.

"No, I'm going to now, if you'll wait for me at Baker street."

"Oh, right…okay, well, shall I put something on? Are you hungry?"

"Whatever is in the fridge," he said. He pressed her cheek. "I'll be home in a few hours."

Sherlock must have forgotten that nobody had occupied 221b since he 'died'. She ran to the shops, picking up a few things before heading upstairs. Sherlock had wisely gone to see Mrs. Hudson immediately after seeing Molly so that she wouldn't wonder why the pathologist was trying to get up to Sherlock's flat. While Molly cooked, Mrs. Hudson told her how she'd nearly beaned Sherlock in the head with her pan, seeing him come through the front door.

"Has he seen John yet?" the old woman asked, getting ready to go back downstairs.

"He will be soon," Molly said. "He told me to wait here, I expect he thinks John will just come right around with him."

"Oh dear," Mrs. Hudson murmured. "Well, I'll expect a good deal of noise when he gets back," she started for the stairs. "If Sherlock calls for me, tell him I've taken one of my soothers," she patted her hip and Molly nodded.

Sure enough in a few hours, Sherlock came home, a bit meeker than when he left, clutching a soaked tissue to his nose.

"Saw John, did you?" Molly asked, nudging him to the kitchen chair.

"Mm. And his fiancée."

"What did you think of her?" Sherlock shrugged in answer, tilting his head back so that she could see the damage. "It's a change, isn't it?"

"Not as big a change as that thing growing on John's face." Molly laughed, wringing out a damp rag she wiped the blood from his nose and lips.

"I'm still getting used to it," she agreed.

"What do you think of Mary?" he asked and Molly was surprised he knew John's fiancée's name. He still had trouble remembering Lestrade's.

"I like her," Molly said.

"But?"

"No but…" Molly paused, biting her lip. "I don't know, it's nothing I'm sure, I just feel…a little bit on edge, just for a moment when I see her, like…" she shook her head. "It's me being nervous around new people, I'm sure," she smiled at Sherlock now. "She's very nice, and we both knit," he snorted then. "You laugh," she said, tugging off the scarf still around his neck, he shucked his coat, sitting back while she cleaned him up. "Who liked that cap and the wristlets I made him when he was in Russia?" Sherlock smiled a little, he missed those wristlets. It was a pity he'd worn through them so quickly. But Molly could make more for him if he wanted. For now he focused on Molly's hands over his face, cleaning him up. Her touch was light and gentle, and he missed it as soon as she finished.

"Prognosis?" he asked, touching his nose carefully.

"Not broken, it should be, seeing as he probably head-butted you," Sherlock was suddenly reminded of John's forehead crashing into his nose, white light, and blood everywhere. Mary had given him a pack of tissues in her purse.

"Did you know that was how he was going to react?" Sherlock asked. Molly was fighting back a smile as she turned to throw the dirty cloth in the sink.

"I figured he'd be pretty upset," she answered.

"_You_ weren't upset when I surprised you."

"I also knew that you were alive the entire time."

"Do you miss it?" he asked suddenly. He was looking at her left hand, her thumb kept stretching under her fingers, feeling her bare ring finger.

"Not the ring itself," she said, feeling a little embarrassed. "The ring he gave me was the wrong size, I was paranoid for the whole three weeks I had it that it would fall off. You know it's always cold in the morgue, it was loose and I'd always be checking for it-" Sherlock, as she was speaking, had taken her left hand examining her finger before digging through his pocket and sliding a cool band onto it. She stopped talking, looking at the silver.

"I solved a case while in Vienna when I was away," he said quietly. "It was for a jeweler, he does…custom things…and he wanted to pay me. I told him to make this." The band was smooth and plain, but it fit her finger exactly. "Diamonds are customary for engagement rings," he went on. "You don't like large jewels; this is just over one and a half carats." She stared at the ring on her finger. She stared at the silver that looked as if it had been polished and polished again, as if he had looked at it over and over again. Of course Sherlock would know her size. Of course he would know that she liked simple things. She didn't need a large ring with multiple diamonds in the setting. She blinked, finding her eyes were blurry.

"It fits perfectly," she managed and Sherlock's smile was warm and sincere.

"I told you there is no one in the world for me but you, Molly Hooper," she wound her arms around his neck, their knees touching. In a moment his hands rested on her hips as she leaned forward to kiss him.  
"Home at last," she murmured and he smiled against her, understanding her meaning. In each other's arms, they _were_ home.


End file.
